Back From Shadow
by LawsonTR01
Summary: A powerful sorcerer, unknown to the peoples of Middle-Earth on the farthest and highest peak from Gondor had waited, his dark eyes ever watching. And when enough blood had been spilled and he could see that the race of Men had failed themselves, he spoke the dark words which lingered; engraved in the ancient remnants of Mount Doom. A way to end the race of Men for the Ages to come.
1. Prologue

**A.N: **

**_This is a story I've been working over for a little while now and I thought I'd finally put it down rather than letting it run-a-muck in my head. While this Prologue and the first chapter are reasonably short, I felt that cutting them to such a degree would probably benefit the story. It will go for approximately 10 or so chapters at minimum, depending on the following it receives. Please feel free to review with positives and constructive criticisms as I'm open to hearing from you all._  
_Thanks very much and I hope you enjoy the piece._  
**

**Back From Shadow**

A coldness returns to Middle-Earth. Upon Sauron's defeat, a new evil spawned from the open dark; greed. The race of Men, now with no evil to fight, turned unto one another. Kingdoms fell under siege, women and children perished in the bloody battle for stone and gold.  
Elven-kind, or those whom had remained, kept a wary eye from their realms, watching and silently hoping that Men would set aside their differences and unite.  
The Dwarves stayed in their forge works, hammering and mining away at their fine jewels and stones. But they soon knew, once the treasures of man were forfeit – they would be at a risk.  
Sword and shield clashed and the mightiest were slain and brought to a premature end – but not for a moment did those of the great white city dare involve themselves in the battle. King Aragorn, or King Elessar as he had now been named denounced the vile, violent acts of his fellow kinsmen. So his gates did not open and his words did not grace any ear beyond the inner sanctums of Minas Tirith.

A time passed.

Men had fought for what seemed like an Age and lost more than they could bear in a hopes of achieving wealth. But for every jewel won, for every kingdom pillaged or conquered, more would be lost than ever thought possible.  
Men had done as Sauron had thought true.  
The will of them had been broken and their spirits torn in two.  
It had taken a great many days for it to ensue, however, with enough death and bloodshed from the race of Men – the very race which had brought Sauron to his justice – a dark magic could be uttered.

A powerful sorcerer, unknown to the peoples of Middle-Earth on the farthest and highest peak from Gondor had waited, his dark eyes ever watching. And when enough blood had been spilled and he could see that the race of Men had failed themselves, he spoke the dark words which lingered; engraved in the ancient remnants of Mount Doom.  
Sauron had left it as his last mark on Middle-Earth; a possible way of returning to finish that which he started if he could.

With the words said, the ground of the world split downward through the middle. Mountains were made to fall, cities, villages and kingdoms shattered by what many assumed to be the will of Arda.

But it was not so.

The Dark Lord Sauron was reborn and with him, he brought his most loyal servants.  
All those whom served him, other than the powerful Saruman had returned to his side, ready to forge an even greater army than before. To rid the race of Men from Middle-Earth forever and to take back what they believed to be there's.

Though there was another result of the spells uttering.

The Elves were brought to know of the return of the Dark Lord and a great many of them returned from their ascension, prepared to aid Middle-Earth one final time to restore peace.  
Legolas Greenleaf, Elrond of Rivendell & Glorfindel amongst the most notable.

And so, as it seemed the battle for Middle-Earth was over….  
Another had seemingly begun.


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1 – faces of old**

His crown rested atop his head and his armour fitting him as well as it had the first time he had sworn his oath to it, Aragorn stood at the port, his eyes looking out towards the Elven vessel that approached. It was carved with beautiful shapes and wave-like lines all the way up its sides and the water looked almost as if it were shaping to them ever time the ship moved closer to the King himself.  
Before long it had arrived. A large plank had been let down to allow for the elves to make their way onto the pier, led by Lord Elrond.

'King Elessar,' the elf Lord greeted, his arms parted wide as he welcomed the man for an embrace as he knew the Man would wish for. It was the way of the race of Man and so, Elrond had always made exception for Aragorn in the regard of elf-kind tradition.  
'My Lord Elrond. It is most good to see you.'  
'As it is you.'  
The meeting of the Lord and the King came to a close far quicker than perhaps anticipated. Legolas Greenleaf had made his way off of the ship and his eyes had immediately taken to his old friend.

'Aragorn, you look most well.' Legolas spoke with his delicate words.  
'You also, my old friend. I only hope the evil of this foul enemy has not made your ascension absent of purpose.' Aragorn uttered words sincere.  
'While many of our race may doubt the race of Men, I am not among them. For the peoples of Middle-Earth, I am most willing to pledge my bow to your cause, Aragorn.'  
'And I am grateful for it.' The King spoke, nodding his head, his favoured hand resting upon the hilt of his kingly blade.  
And in the greetings of elf and man, all seemed well for just a moment longer. The sky was clear and the birds sung tuneful songs. The waters were calm and not eerie as they once had been. It had appeared as though Man had truly not fallen from the gracefulness that they had found upon Sauron's initial defeat.

The calmness, as it was, could not last. With the warm words and kind-giving's of elf and man business of the past. The sky clouded over once more. The birds flew away and their songs were no more. The waves of the sea rushed up and became violent against the elf Círdan's ship.  
The elves that had come from aboard it all looked upon the change with heavy eyes, their feelings of disbelief clear to Aragorn.  
'It is worse than we had feared.' Elrond broke the silence of voices, his brows arching as he looked up into the dim skies. There was no cool wind or the smell of rain to come from those clouds, for they were more like smoke from burning pyres or the burning of the lost that came from battles past.  
Indeed the elves were elemental beings, but it did not require one to come from such a race to see the birthplace of the darkness atop of them. That was how distinct and foul it was.

But then it came, a break in the smoke-like skies and a beam of light shone down towards the ship that had come from the sea. And upon the vessel stood a white robed figure, hair long and beard waving freely in the wind. A bright white staff was clasped in his left hand and in his right hand he bore a scroll.  
Even having not seen the wizard in a great many years, Aragorn could not forget the face of his eldest friend. The face of Gandalf.

'I have had faith in the strength of Men in times as hard as these. I dare say, I can do so again.' The old man spoke, walking the plank onto the stone-cobbled pier. His robes followed behind him, just inches from the floor and he stopped beside his Elven company, leaning onto his staff – his blue eyes focused on the King of Gondor.  
'Men may have been at war with one another for a time – but – if we can defeat Sauron as we have done before now, they will not do so again. Men have learned. I can feel the change in the world, even amidst this darkness. They call for a final chance to show their worth. They call for a final chance to be aided through these times. And we, maybe the fools, shall supply such a chance.'

'You are no fools. The race of Men shall not fail you. Not again, Mithrandir.' The King bowed his head humbly. While he had promised more than he could dare assure, Aragorn needed the faith of the Elves and the faith of the Wizard and it was something he dared not lose. Not in these times. Not when he needed them so sincerely to stand by his side and purge this evil from the lands. An evil that had returned with such conviction that it frightened him.

Gandalf had smiled back to Aragorn. Confirmation that his words had been enough to sway the wizard to his side completely.

But the silence that was shared for a brief moment was halted by the final figure to depart the ship. A longhaired, fair elf that was a powerful warrior on horseback; Glorfindel.

'So, King of Gondor, where is it that we ride this day?'

'To the Dwarven lands. To seek the aid of the miners in these times. To reform the most powerful line of defence that Middle-Earth ever had. Elf, dwarf and man, together!'

'They will not take to this.' Elrond stated plainly.

'I dare say, my Lord Elrond, that they will.' Aragorn was so certain – even more so than he believed he was before uttering the words.

'How do you propose this task to be done, Aragorn?' Legolas spoke up, his hands clasped in front of him – a look of intrigue gracing his elegant features and making him look only slightly older than he usually had.

'With the proposition of reason.'

* * *

It was a long ride to the Grey Mountains but all of those who were accompanying Aragorn and his personal guard of one-thousand were full equipped and ready for the journey.  
Word had come that Gimli had arrived only days ago at the mighty land of the dwarves and Aragorn was quietly hopeful that such a blessing would make the task of persuading dwarf-kind of an easier nature.  
The king by no mere chance was not left to his thoughts for long however; Faramir, perhaps his most trusted Captain of Gondor had ridden forward, away from the ranks to meet with the lead of his King.  
Even now, with years passed – Faramir was fair skinned, not aged a day since the past, his hair still lengthy and coloured as it once was. In truth, the years had been kinder to him than they had been to the King of the mighty realm of Gondor.  
'My King, you look troubled.' The Captain spoke, his horse falling in step with Aragorn's own.  
'Do I?' Aragorn tried his hand at being a convincing leader – uncertain of what his loyal follower was perceiving.  
'Does it trouble you, this journey to the Grey Mountains to meet with the dwarves. To ask for an alliance in which we can not full-heartedly assure?'  
'It would be a lie if I said it did not, Faramir. I have made an oath to our Elven allies and Gandalf. To not fulfil my word will strain the faith of them.'  
'I think not, my King.'  
'Oh?' Aragorn looked sincerely uncertain of Faramir's words. His eyes had moved off the path ahead of him now and were rested with curiosity on the fair Captain.  
Faramir leaned inwards toward his King, his lips only a brief distance from Aragorn's ear.  
'The Elves are by no means convinced that the dwarves shall join in this fight. In fact, they are silently hoping that they do not. If you secure this alliance, my King, you will only strengthen their faith in man – but to fail in the task – nothing shall be lost, only the Elves suspicions of dwarven-kind assured.'

However, their words were brought to an end when the sound of a dwarven horn being blown brought the company to a sudden halt. It echoed across the mountain top like a wolf howl or a Warg snarl and all of those from elf to man were uncertain of its purpose.  
'What does the horn call mean?' Legolas's voice called from the rear of Aragorn.  
Gandalf moved forward, his staff drawn forward.  
'We must turn back, for that is no horn of welcome!' the white wizard had now moved to the very front of the company and had turned to face them.  
'That is a horn of warning, most likely only given to us by the grace of Gimli. The dwarves wish for no involvement in the battles of Men.' Gandalf's eyes warily tracked back to the mountain that stood high behind him.  
But Aragorn led his horse forward, passed the great wizard and upward towards the mountains entry.  
Gandalf turned his horse quickly and spurred after the King, concern drawing him on.  
'Aragorn you must turn back!' the wizard's voice was full of urgency.  
Aragorn turned to face Gandalf, his horse stopping as he pulled it back into a halt. The King's eyes were full of passion and a need for aid and so his words would only ring of a truer nature when he uttered them.  
'I shall not return to Minas Tirith without that which I promised. The dwarves do not wish to go to war, that is certain. For the very same reason, they will not lay waste to the King of Gondor.'  
Indeed, this was Aragorn Elessar, King of Gondor and saviour of Middle-Earth. It had taken all up until this moment for Gandalf to be reminded of that.  
And so, he nodded to the man and blessed his passage up the mountain with a brief word of utterance and a touch to the King's forehead.  
'Go now, Aragorn Elessar, King of the race of Men and bring back this land from the shadow once more.' And then the wizard turned Shadowfax, his trusted steed backward and moved back to meet with the company.

Legolas's eyes were filled with concern and Elrond appeared uncertain of what was to come now, but no one uttered a word there. Instead, they watched as King Aragorn made his way up the mountain path and entered the sanctum and forges of the dwarves.

'I feel he shall return with more than we think possible, my friends. I feel that the King of Gondor has more to offer than we ever truly anticipated.' Gandalf spoke, a confident smile dawning on his face.


	3. Chapter 2

**A.N: **

**_Thanks for your reviews and following!_**  
_**Please continue to send the reviews in and show your support, I really appreciate it and it gives me the strive to continue on writing.**_

_**I hope you enjoy the latest installment.**_

CHAPTER 2 – hammer & stone

Dwarven hammer lay down upon dwarven rock and particles broke and shattered from the walls of the finest mountain in the realm of those whom aid was needed from. Stout being with great beards, larger than they truly were meandered through the mines, dirty, coal-stricken and wary of the horse bound man of Gondor who rode through their home – safe from outsiders until now.  
Aragorn paid the smaller folk a great deal of mind and despite their unwelcoming nature, he greeted them with a brief smile; each and every one.  
But much before the great King could reach the highest peak of the mountain, a dwarf, full-armoured and wielded with a large axe came to stop before him. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth pursed closed and a silence had followed him in his descent down the mountain path.

'What brings a man like you to the mighty mountains of the Dwarves, Gondorian King?' the dwarf chortled at the mention of Aragorn's title, leaning down on his extremely large axe and paying use to it as a leaning cane.

'I am here to seek the alliance of dwarves in such a time, my bearded friend. I must speak to Gimli, son of Glóin – or Glóin himself if he shall have me.' Aragorn's words were friendly and much more pleasant than they usually were. They were filled with respect and understanding for the traditions and wariness of the dwarves, given the arrival of a Man from afar.

'Glóin shall not see you. We wish for not part in the affairs you bring to our doorstep, Aragorn, King.' The dwarf spat.

'I dare say, dwarf of the mountain – you have little choice. If Men are to fall, the dwarves shall be next on Sauron's venture to take Middle-Earth as his own hencemore. This invitation I offer mustn't be dealt with so lightly.'

A loud clearing of the throat was heard from behind the large-axe wielding dwarf and both Aragorn and the dwarven recipient were drawn to the noise.

There stood Gimli, friend of Aragorn and son of Glóin; a great warrior and once member of the fellowship.

'I welcome you Aragorn to the Grey Mountains.' Gimli greeted.  
The dwarf had remained to look the same as he had the last time Aragorn had seen him. Stout, wide and bearded like all others. Braids all through his marvelous reddish-brown beard and his armor still battle-worn from his part in the fight for Middle-Earth so long ago.  
'Gimli, it is most good to see you.' Aragorn spoke, dismounting his steed and making his way to his old friend, embracing him in a brotherly grasp. 'I must speak to you of the old threat. That which has returned.'  
Gimli's face crumpled, his nose turning up at the mention of the matter.  
'We can have no part in it, Aragorn. The dwarves are at peace and it will remain so.'  
Aragorn shook his head, 'It will not last.' He promised.  
'My father will have no word of it and so, we cannot help you this time.'  
'Then call Glóin to me! Let me heal his mind of this falsity which plagues it! This mistruth that he shall forever be safe from the forces of the returned Dark Lord!' Aragorn's voice boomed with authority and all the dwarves in the mountain had stopped and turned to look at him. Many shook at the mention of Sauron and many gasped at the disrespect that had been shown for the great Glóin. Even Gimli had taken a step away in disbelief at Aragorn's urgency.  
But the silence did not stay long.  
Glóin emerged from behind large doors and light cast his shadow upon the walls of the mountain.  
'King of Gondor – you have my ears.' Said Glóin.

* * *

Gandalf sat with his head bowed, back against the large mountain and his staff placed over his lap. He looked like a bright, beautiful gem on the mountainside, ready to be mined by the dwarves from afar. His mind was on Aragorn and his endeavour to seek the dwarves as his allies and he could not shake the feeling that by some chance, the King of Gondor would achieve something which all in the company had come to fear impossible. Yet he said nothing. Instead he sat in a quiet slumber, looking at those who had come to aid Middle-Earth once more and being silently thankful.  
Legolas had begun on his way to speak with Gandalf, his bow pulled over his shoulder and his blue eyes meeting with Gandalf's.  
'What do your gifts tell you of Aragorn, Gandalf?' the elf questioned.  
The white wizard stayed quiet for a moment more, cast a look into the skies and watched as a beam of light broke from the shadows above them.  
'My gifts tell me Aragorn is safe. That Aragorn will return without delay with news that none of us truly expect.'  
The elf prince closed his eyes for a moment and nodded his head. 'While my gifts do not grant me such visions, my hopes do.'  
Gandalf smiled at that.  
'Hope, young Prince of Mirkwood, is a much more powerful, delicate thing than any of my gifts. Trust in me that, my old friend. For it is a truth I shall not be able to solemnly prove.'  
Amidst the kindness of conversation that the two shared, a unmistakeable horn was heard. But this was no dwarf horn. No horn of man or elf. This was orc horn – and it spawned from whence the company had traveled from.  
Legolas and the other elves were on their feet in no time at all, taking post amidst the brief tree covered landscape slightly down the mountain and Gandalf had taken to Shadowfax, his sword drawn and his voice booming.  
'Draw weapons elves and men, for the first battle of this old threat is upon us!' he raised his staff into the air and broke the shadow from the sky. Light beamed down onto the ranks of the King of Gondor and Men and elf-kind raised their weapons in salute to the light.  
The marching steps of their enemies grew closer and closer until finally, they were upon them. Men drew blade into orc and orc into man. Elf shot from the treetops and the cover of their stumps and Gandalf took Shadowfax forward, sword drawn and staff swing at one side.

Legolas stood upon a high rock peak, his bow drawn and his aim true. Dozens of orcs had already been slain by his arm.  
But even with the confidence of Men and the confidence of the elves and the white wizard; they were outnumbered.  
'Hold for as long as is possible. We must give time to the King!' Gandalf called loudly, swinging his weapons and slaying orc upon orc enemy.  
Elrond had drawn his blade and begun to fight his way through the horde to aid Gandalf in the inner depths of the ranks of the enemy, Glorfindel not too far behind.  
Faramir had drawn blade with his Gondorian troops and the hacking and slashing of the warriors of the white city ensued much the same.  
But man began to tire and as did elf. Only so much could be done when such a significant number opposed one's own.  
Gandalf continued to battle-cry in a hope of lifting his fellow warrior's spirits, but it could only do so much.  
Then came the volley from far away. A launch of arrows that blotted the beam of light from above. Countless of those aiding were struck. Many fell and few escaped absent of any injury from the volley itself.  
Faramir moved for the cover of the trees, as did Elrond and Glorfindel.  
Gandalf cast up a shield to protect himself from the incoming missile fire and Legolas dropped from his vantage point, using it as his protection now.  
However, while the heroes of Middle-Earth had managed their protection – many of those who served alongside them had not. Men of Gondor fell in countless amounts and some of the elven soldiers which had come with the great warriors that had ascended had fell much the same.  
Their numbers dwindled ever more and any chance of expelling the enemy from this place had fallen.

The orcs continued their push, barbaric weapons slashing through any that dared come to oppose them.  
Gandalf fired spells in hopes to deter them, but much of his power had been overweighed by the darkness of the land and the breaking of the beam of light which had purified the battle ground only moments ago.  
All seemed lost.  
But then came axe, flying independently from the innards of the mountain.  
One orc fell.  
Then, a barrage of flying axes.  
Countless orcs fell.

Led by the King himself, Aragorn drew out the mightiest army of dwarves that the known world had ever seen; Gimli and Glóin beside him. With sword, spear, hammer, shield and axe they lay waste to the horde that charged the mountain.  
Ferocious cries of warriors from the mountain rang out and orcs screeched as they met the violent attacks of the dwarves of the mountain.  
Soon enough, those cries had drowned out and nothing remained but the sound of steel being pulled away from the cool flesh of the dead.  
Every warrior was bloodstained by battle, many haunted by the loss of close friends, warriors and kinsmen.  
Aragorn felt for them. As did every other hero that looked on.

The loss of life, although tragic, had not been in vain. The alliance of Men and elf and dwarf had been secured and the mightiest defense that Middle-Earth had ever possessed had returned.  
The originally company had made for Aragorn, they hearts full of hope now that they could see what the King had accomplished.  
Elrond had stepped away from the group, taken Aragorn by the forearm and asked him how he had managed such a task.  
And Aragorn's answer was simple enough.  
'I needed only take them beyond the comforts of their mountain. Then they saw the threat that loomed. They heard the horn that blew. They saw what it was that was to come.'  
And so it was true.  
And so the alliance was formed.  
And so, once more, Middle-Earth stood a fighting chance against the Dark Lord as he ventured to end all that the peoples of Arda held most dear.


End file.
